


Perceiving

by GalaxyAqua



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Empath, F/F, Mukuro as Junko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6061858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyAqua/pseuds/GalaxyAqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as she kids around and waves her powers of intuition off as a joke - Sayaka Maizono is, in fact, psychic. She's an empath; aware of all the emotions of others around her, no matter how they try to hide. She's entirely aware of that striking presence of calm, too, that unnerving calm amidst all of her classmates' fear. She's intrigued, drawn like a moth to a flame, to Junko Enoshima. Because Junko is not afraid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perceiving

**Author's Note:**

> if I got any facts wrong about empaths, please let me know!

As much as she kids around and waves her powers of intuition off as a joke - Sayaka Maizono is, in fact, psychic. Or at least, she's something that could be considered psychic by some. An empath. That's the technical term anyway. 

The technical term for being able to perceive the emotional state of those around her.

Which is why, on the very first day, when she steps into Hope's Peak Academy - with all its sealed windows and locked doors - she expects to feel the fear resonate through every one of her classmates. The very same fear she feels deep down. Heavy, chilling, like a vice around each of their necks. She wants that fear to surface, to ensure that she is not alone. She wants to feel their terror, to only amplify her own. 

For the most part, she gets what she wants. It's strong and succinct and unwavering. An overarching fear; cold and unforgiving. 

But something's off. Because she doesn't sense it from everyone. 

It's not Togami's silent dread, Hagakure's blissful ignorance or Celestia's burning fury, however, that tips Sayaka off. 

Amidst the fear, is a beacon of pure calm. And Sayaka is frightened even more by it, than anything else. 

Because it doesn't change. It's calmer than the sea without wind, and somehow it's warm as well. It's secure, and sure. It's the calm of someone who has everything under control. It's the calm coming from her right, covering both excitement and worry and teeming with something akin to loyalty. 

She locks eyes with fashionista and model Junko Enoshima. 

Junko gives her a long look, before her rose lips quirk down, and she snarls. “What are you staring at me for?”

"You know something," Sayaka tells her decisively. There’s a spike of disbelief. She doesn’t pretend with Junko. There’s no reason to. "You're not afraid."

Junko recoils, curling her lip in distaste. "Um, anyone would be afraid in this situation, y'know? What are you talking about?"

Nervousness. Agitation. Guilt. Anxiety. Then calm returns, just as quickly. 

Sayaka senses and Sayaka knows. Junko is not afraid of this. She's not afraid of this thing they call 'mutual killing'; she's not afraid of this concept fittingly titled 'kill or be killed'. Junko Enoshima is not afraid. 

And Sayaka needs to know why. 

* * *

 

She befriends Junko cautiously, gears in her mind working to coerce Makoto Naegi onto her side as she does so; simply because he might come in handy at a later date and it doesn't hurt to have more friends. Naegi falls into her hands easily, the sweet adoration that coats his feelings an easy find for Sayaka's keen empath powers. 

Kirigiri, one of their more cryptic classmates, is the first to be aware of Sayaka's powers - how, the idol doesn't know, because she's never told a soul in her life - but however it is that Kirigiri found out, she steers clear from Sayaka from that day forward. It is no matter. Her feelings were too painful for Sayaka's psyche anyway, and one less migraine would do wonders for the girl's mental health. 

She has to pull all her attention in anyway, to focus solely on the enigma that is Junko Enoshima. 

And Junko is none the wiser, as she spills lies always tinged with panic and smooth guilt; fooling all but Sayaka Maizono and Kyouko Kirigiri (Sayaka will never figure her out, but that girl has the perceptiveness to rival a mind reader, and that's territory Sayaka doesn't want to tread). 

Junko's a good liar, too. 

Her lies make sense, and she doesn't hesitate. But the heart doesn't lie, and Sayaka will always know. 

"You know something we don't," she'd make a habit of saying, and Junko would brush it off every time. 

"Whatever," was the most common response. 

"Why do you keep saying that?" was the close second. 

But her facade is breaking. Fear is creeping into Junko’s emotions, little by little; paranoia enveloping her every time she has to force a lie. And Sayaka is getting closer to the truth every time they speak. 

* * *

 

The DVDs, which the mastermind had set as the motive, drive Sayaka's mind and heart into ruin. Her powers go haywire, her own emotions out of control, and when she's running through blurred tears thinking fear, fear, fear...

... at the end of the hallway stands Junko Enoshima. 

Calm, unmoving, accepting. Guilty. Though her face is scowling, and her freckles are dark against her pale skin, her feelings are unchanging. Eternal calm, eternal resignation, a tinge of sadness. Calm.

"How dare they -" she mutters loudly, all for the act, her voice liquid and enticing but ultimately faked.

The hallway is empty sans the two of them. 

"You don't even care." Sayaka spits. "You're feeling guilt sometimes, but then it just goes away. Where does it go, Junko? Where does your guilt go?"

The model steps back, looking affronted. "What are you talking about? Why do you keep harassing me like this? Are you jealous? Honey, you're pretty, you can work it as you are."

"Where does your guilt go?" Sayaka repeats, fear driving her tongue. "Why aren't you afraid, Junko? Why are you only sad and resigned but never afraid?"

Junko's eyes are wide, but her emotions betray nothing. She didn’t even know it could happen, but there are walls between someone’s heart and Sayaka’s mind. And she’s much too weak – much too weak after seeing that godforsaken video – to be able to pry any deeper.

"You know something," Junko says for the first time, an echo of Sayaka's own words. And with that, she's gone.

* * *

 

Leon Kuwata is an interesting subject. His emotions run on an unbalanced scale - fear always on one side, but determination coupled with cowardice always fighting on the other. He's the perfect target for her, the perfect kill for Sayaka, her perfect means of escape. 

Because he's easy to read, and his emotions are all in the veins of his fists and the sapphire of his eyes. 

He is the opposite of Junko, in that respect, all except for their shared possession of piercing blue irises.

Sayaka plots, and plans.

She pretends, just like everyone else pretends, but her fear goes stale. It’s not fear anymore. She can feel the rise of fright among her peers; high-strung and on edge as they are, but she is not afraid anymore.

She is in despair.

Her intuition is sharp. Her hands are cold.

At the morning meeting, she suddenly feels regret, pain and agony coming from somewhere. It’s so strong she can do nothing to block it out.

When she looks, it’s Sakura Oogami.

“Why?” she wants to ask. “Why are you in pain? Why are you so hurt? Why?”

But she doesn’t, because she’s a girl on a mission and that mission involves every ounce of her cunning. There is no time for empathy anymore. Her eyes are set on Leon, and he is none the wiser.

On the evening before it all goes down, Sayaka passes Junko in the hallways.

“I did it,” she whispers, words like daggers, set to attack. Junko’s guard falls, her emotions plain and clear, as she whips around to look at her.

“What did you do?” The model whispers back, and it’s just what Sayaka is looking for. Fear. Junko’s fear – a pulsing throb in the chest; one that Sayaka had been aching to feel from the start.

“You’ll see.” The idol says with a sinister smile. “You’ll see.”

* * *

 

It’s all chalked up to goddamn coincidence. The night rule set by Celestia was a joke, really. Sayaka looks to one side, dorm nameplates in hand, and Junko is standing there, watching her. Judging her.

“You did it.” She accuses. “Or at least, you’re going to do it. Murder, I mean.”

Sayaka shrugs, expression empty. “Are you going to stop me?”

She expects rebellion, retaliation – maybe a scream, or Junko diving to apprehend her. She gets nothing.

The model just looks at her, sadness shining in those beautiful crystal eyes of her, and shakes her head.

“I want to, I do,” she voices with a quivering bottom lip. “But this is exactly what _she_ wants. If you backed out, I’d have to… I’d have to kill you myself.”

Nothing of the sentence makes sense, but Sayaka can connect dots well before she can see the final picture. Loyalty – that loyalty was dedicated to whoever _she_ was. Duty – killing, certainly.

“You know too much.” Junko adds. “I don’t know how you know, but you know. And because you know, you can’t be kept alive.”

“You’re afraid,” Sayaka tells her. “You’re afraid now, that if I don’t go through with it, you’re going to have to kill me.”

There’s a span of silence, but the idol knows that she’s right. Junko has been fiddling with something for a while – something that’s hard against her long red nails, but twice as shiny. It’s got marks showing it’s well-used, of course, but it’s clean enough to inform her that it’s also been well looked after.

An army knife.

“It’s an interesting choice of weapon, I must say. Where did you get it?” Sayaka locks eyes with Junko now, and it’s not like the first time where one knew more than the other. It’s a challenge. She dares Junko to come forward and do it. End her misery, free her from despair.

All the while, she’s set Makoto Naegi’s nameplate on her own door, and her plate on his. Convenient how they’re right beside each other, really.

“It’s from my personal collection,” Junko is not lying anymore. She’s not lying, because Sayaka can see her and she sees something more than sadness; she sees anguish, loss and terror. She senses something too powerful to name – something that could easily be the words _I don’t want to lose you_.

She doesn’t know what to say.

Time is running out. She looks to Leon’s door, knowing that he’d come out at any moment, any second now. She looks at the nameplates that she’s swapped, and she looks at Junko, who is toying with the knife in her hands.

She looks heartbroken, and Sayaka has no idea why.

A voice that sounds like her own – a voice from her very mouth, that sounded older and wiser than she’s ever been, speaks on instinct. “Kill me.” She says. “At least I won’t have to suffer anymore. This is your fault, and you will never escape that knowledge.”

“Sayaka,” she calls, unshed tears threatening to spill. “Sayaka, please.”

“It’s Maizono to you,” the idol replies coldly. “We’re not friends, Junko. We never were.”

The model plunges forward, knife in hand, incredibly (incredible, she’s incredible, how can she be so agile) fast and incredibly torn, and the act is done in seconds. She’s not put off by the blood, but the tears are spilling now, and Sayaka feels like she’s being buried alive.

Buried alive by… love…?

It’s laughable, this kind of situation. Nothing makes sense, but she’s dying, and she’s planned to frame Leon for her own murder when it should have been the other way around. She’s planned to haunt Junko, but there’s no hate in the model’s heart even for her – it’s all love, love, ravaging and fierce, all love. All nonsensical, unexplainable love.

Sayaka doesn’t laugh though. She cries. She remembers.

“Mukuro,” she screams, deaf to the soundproof rooms around them. The sleeping innocence that would know nothing of the tragedy until the morning. “Mukuro, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I forgot about you, I’m sorry you had to be the one to kill me, I didn’t want this, I love you, don’t cry for me, I don’t deserve it…”

And Mukuro Ikusaba, the one who raised the knife to her, and the one who fooled them all into thinking she was Junko Enoshima, breaks into pieces.

“I love you, Sayaka, I’m sorry,” she sobs, and they’ve reached the point of no return, because Sayaka is fading and she knows. She’s fading quickly, because Mukuro knew how to make her death quick; Mukuro knew how to make her death painless.

“I won’t forgive you,” Sayaka says, because if Mukuro knows how to lay her to peace, she knows how to spark vengeance in the other – she knows how the soldier works, because her emotions are always there; no matter what her face is projecting. “Take her down.”

“I will,” Mukuro promises, pressing a kiss to her temple, and then setting her gently down. The click of a lock alerts her to danger, and she’s up and running, not looking back even when she hears the deafening screech of someone encountering a dead body, not even when she aches to see her fallen love one last time. “I won’t stop until I do.”


End file.
